Lost... And then She Was Found

From the moment we wake till the time we go to bed it seems Lars and I are on the move, doing something. All of it seems split between working our day jobs and working on the suite. It equates to two very, VERY exhausted people by the end of the day.

After another trip to Home Depot today, my father calculated his total spending on the renovations so far to be around 6 thousand dollars. Hopefully, we won’t spend more than a few thousand more, max. It seems like a ridiculous amount to spend on the basement suite and today, when we picked out a sleek granite counter-top for the bathroom, I didn’t have to wonder why. I feel guilty for it, even though he insisted, not caring about the price.

I’m lucky I come from a very generous family. For the most part, we help each other out when we can. Together, we put money towards household bills, like mortgage payments, food, electricity, etc and together we share most of the household work. Though this doesn’t really apply to my brother, however I’ll get to that in a minute. I imagine this is a slightly strange environment for Lars to move into, though he fits in well and his actions show he agrees it is a healthy way of living.

It seems the Western culture is pretty much the only one where families don’t grow to be conditioned to work as single unit, but instead live under a firm belief system that as the children near adulthood they must move out and fend for their own, and senior citizens often go to care homes before their offspring will take them in. I’m not certain there’s any real benefit to this tradition and personally, perhaps after so long in the Middle East, I can see many flaws in it… though we’ll save that conversation for another day as it’s not really what’s on my mind

On my mind today is the length of the days, how much work there is to be done, and how hard everyone is working, excepting my teen-like adult brother, who instead just sits at his computer all day and night playing games, works the occasional single day job at Labourers Unlimited, drinks obsessively, keeps a filthy bedroom, has no respect for noise levels in the middle of the night while fighting with his long distance girlfriend over the phone or simply getting over-excited over his game-speak, while contributing less than the least possible expected to the work, nor the finances of the household. None of us know what to do with or about him anymore.

We try to bring these things to his attention and he gets defensive, even abusive. He won’t grow up. He won’t learn to fend for himself but instead is consistently looking for the next free ride to cling on to. If it weren’t us, it’d be his sister or his biological father. He can’t keep a job longer than a few months and has little to no self-respect, let alone respect for anyone else. He doesn’t take part in any of our discussions, as he’s too busy in his room at the computer, on the phone or drinking his beer. He doesn’t help out with the chores other than maybe clean up his own dishes every now and then. He takes no interest in our future as a family, any of our projects, whether they are house renovations or future business proposals.

And none of us have the heart to kick him out and force him to learn through tough love giving him the opportunity to make it or break it, because well… there is a higher chance of him breaking it then making it. And we’d never be able to forgive ourselves should something happen to him. He was my mom’s last child and only son. She always spoiled him rotten, never allowing anyone to chastise him and is perhaps solely responsible for the complete ‘fail’ he is today.

I know if he were to read this he would object, perhaps with a lot of anger and aggression, ’I paid this much here, and that much there. I clean the dishes. I had this reason or that reason to quit my job or was unfairly dismissed/laid-off. You’re a fucking bitch!’ And a big part of me thinks, maybe he should read this. Maybe it’d force some reality into him about what he is, how much of a burden he really is on us by simply refusing to be any part of this family unit while expecting to have electricity, internet, a roof over his head, a hot shower, and more while offering little to nothing but disrespect through late night screaming matches on the phone to disregarding simple requests like, “don’t answer calls if you don’t recognise the phone number,” in return. And perhaps it’d force him to see who he really is and how much better he should be able to make of himself but chooses not to, because he never learned the life skills one needs to make it. The guy wants to be a father one day and I shudder at the idea… How can he teach any life skills when he hasn’t bothered to learn them himself?

What would he do, where would he go, if there was no one left to depend on? Mom was proof; our safety nets aren’t there forever. We have to learn to take care of ourselves. And what are we to do to help him without abandoning him or enabling him anymore?

Lars and I have been having a blast, preparing the other suite for us. I live in a big house. In fact, it’s so big; there are 2 basement suites. My father finished the one I moved into around this time last year, when he asked me to move back home. At the time, we rented the other incomplete suite out at a fraction of its value. The renter (who rarely paid rent at all, actually) moved out, and Lars and I have decided to move in there – to a space that’s ours, rather than him and I staying in a space that’s mine with a few of his things thrown in the mix. We need to finish it before we can move in (as I’m spoiled that way – and my dad sees the value in the house increasing with 2 complete basement suites anyway), so it means, shopping, building, dry-walling, more shopping, painting, and more shopping even. So far, we’re re-modelling the kitchen, have bought a great black stove (with 5 ceramic burners!) and a fridge to match, new cabinets for the kitchen (enough to build an island, YAY!) and flooring.

At this very moment, Lars is next door and I can hear him dry-walling away. He’s really very good at it and considering it’s exactly what he decided to make a career out of when we met, that’s an excellent thing in all areas. Anyway, we’ve now spent countless hours together working away, and I can honestly say… I love working with him. He’s competent, strong, and inspired. He helps me when I need him to lift something heavy or move something awkward – and he helps fix my rookie construction mistakes (and he does it with a smile!). Then, when we’re all tired and dirty we get to shower, then lay down and cuddle up at night, in one another’s arms, knowing that’s exactly where we belong.

I keep waiting for the romance to die. I expect it. I wonder about it. I ponder whether or not that time will come. And then he holds my hand, or comes in here just to hug me, or sends me a BBM just to say he loves me. My thoughts easily move to how lucky we are to have found each other… Each other’s forever I’m sure.

~*~

In some not-so fun news… I tried calling my son this morning and as usual he didn’t answer his cell phone. I called the house (something I really dislike doing because it means long uncomfortable conversations in Arabic with my former in-laws!), and his toddler cousin answered – only to tell me my son was travelling before hanging up the phone. This pissed me right off and I sent my ex-husband a raving email, pretty much letting him know I was sick and tired of him not keeping me in the loop on what’s happening my son, and I threatened legal action if he doesn’t smarten up. My baby is going on 9 years old now. I’m sure if I just went to Dubai, the UAE courts would let him decide where he wanted to live. And I’m sure they would eventually give me legal right to travel with him. But it takes going to Dubai. It takes retaining another lawyer. And it would take years, and years in their court system. I don’t know if I can handle any more time in those kangaroo courts. God knows I’ve spent way too much time in Middle Eastern courthouses as it is.

While ranting out about issues in the UAE, I should mention my bank issue is STILL not sorted out and I still don’t have my bank card, despite doing everything they asked, AND more – even sending TWO friends with letters and my passport copy to the bank trying to sort it out. Fucking monkeys, the entire country is run by them.

Anyway… it’s enough ranting for now. There are so many great things to think about… like curling up with my Lars in an hour or so.

She won’t let me work. She’s on my lap, demanding attention. The more I try to push her away, the more demanding she gets. So I finally let her up. She’s not content to just sit on my lap, she needs me to be cuddling and caressing her between calls. She purrs and licks my chin until I pet her, and then she purrs some more. The cat’s tongue feels like sandpaper – must be nature’s way of helping her clean herself?

Her name is Diablo, but we call her SnowPus because when we had that really bad winter a few years back, we discovered she adores the snow. She was my mom’s ‘vacation cat’. As in, my mother came back to Canada for a two-month vacation from Dubai one year, and couldn’t stand living without a cat so bought this pure white kitten, and trusted my brother to look after her when mom went home. My brother did take care of her, and my mom moved back to Canada a year or so later, bringing a zoo of animals including 7 cats with her.

When mom died, she left behind SnowPus, and 4 of the 7 cats she’d come back from Dubai with (the other three died before mom did – and my mom cried her eyes out every time). She also left us Max, the rat-like Chihuahua. At this very moment, Max is cuddled in bed with Lars who is getting some much-needed rest; SnowPus is on my lap purring away and the other 4 cats are up stairs or out in the yard doing what cats do.

Exactly a year ago today, or rather midnight tonight, is the exact time my brother called me to tell me mom was on her way to the hospital again, by ambulance. Less than 5 hours later, around 4:30am on July 23rd, she suffered the last of 7 heart attacks she’d had that night and died. On July 23rd, just after 3pm, I sat next to the hospital bed that my mom’s body was laying on – and through my tears, wished her a happy 55th birthday.

We later learned that the cause of her heart attacks, the cause of her death was Septicaemia (otherwise known as blood poisoning). A week or so earlier, she was diagnosed with blood poisoning, caused by a cat-bite she’d gotten while trying to save SnowPus’s life from the grips of Wrinky; the three-legged cat that came home from Dubai with her. Wrinky bit into my mother hard. It’s safe to assume through my mother’s binge drinking, blacking out, and pure lack of self-concern, she didn’t take any prescribed medicines and if she did, she didn’t take them correctly.

My mom lived her whole life catering to cats. She collected cats – both live and those created artistically. Every ornament she ever bought had a cat on it, every shirt she ever wore, and every set of dishes the ever purchased with glee. She was so obsessive about cats; she used to joke about whom she was going to leave her cat collection to when she passed. We contemplated opening a cat museum, or a cattery for people to board cats in her care.

Wrinky bit into my mom, while my mom tried to save another of her cats from her. Wrinky herself, coincidently, had been saved by my mother’s pure heart years before, when my mom asked for her birthday gift only to be that Wrinky get the surgery that cost thousand’s of dollars and left her a leg short, after being hit by a car. The three-legged cat still lives with us today, but she’s kept separate from SnowPus at all times. And when in err the two do cross paths in the yard, they immediately start off where they left off - trying to kill each other.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of a greater irony. The very creature she’d spent the majority of her life trying to save helped induce my mom’s death...

If every month could be July, and every day be the 23rd, I’d wish that true so that everyone remember you… always. I miss you mom.

This month has been hard. Thoughts of you haunt me at night, when I go to bed. And I never see you healthy. I always seem to see the sick, disturbed, even deranged you. It keeps me awake. So I take pill… then another… and another. I’m certain Lars thinks I have a problem. Maybe he’s right. But I was disturbed before you died. And then I found your bottle. You’d recently been prescribed the same meds as I. I knew all along mom. If only your cunt of a mother hadn’t taught you shame… we’d have lived through this together. You’d not be dead.

So many things killed you. So many things to blame... So many little things that would have saved you… If just one of them wasn’t the way they were…

But time and time again, I blame another portion. The Canadian system, alcohol, your mother, the doctors, those who watched you die… Deep down I know, blame does no one any good. It was your time.

But it’s not mine. I’m not ready to mourn you. And it hurts today if it was yesterday. And I don’t care if today is not the 23rd. I miss you and am mourning you now damn it!

You should not be gone so soon. Lars and I are throwing around the idea of having a baby one day. How can I do that without you?

I wish every day could be like yesterday – minus the temper-tantrum I threw out of nowhere in the morning, and the missing dog we had to chase down in the evening. Both instances aside, and we had a brilliant day from start to finish.

We woke in the morning and played a game of Scrabble over coffee. I had a little fit (seriously am not sure when or how I became such a poor sport, but beat the shit outta myself immediately afterwards for it just in case!), he went to the store, we finished our game (he beat me by 3 points), and we both hopped in the shower. As I got ready, he packed us some snacks. I made a couple of protein shakes, packed a book, some Band-Aids (just in case), some water and the Yatzee and we took off through the trails in the mountain across the street.

We hiked for a few hours through the lush green bush, before we finally sat down to rest/snack. Along the way, we came across a very touching ‘Missing Dog’ poster and stopped to read the same. There were far less people on the trails than we expected to see. The day was hot, but cool in the shade of the trees. It made for a hike as good as any work out! Our very last stop among the trails were ‘Pickles Bluffs’, an outstanding lookout point near the top. And I tell you, the pictures below do this place no justice. There is no better place on earth than my very own backyard!

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

Anyway, we got home to learn the puppy was missing. I dislike most dogs. But this dog, he isn’t any dog. He’s my mom’s last companion, the last thing to make her smile. And a great reminder of what a compassionate person she was. As such, he’s become a piece of my heart. I was mortified. My brother had left the back door open – he’d been gone all day. My father assumed Lars and I’d taken him with us on our hike. There are a lot of places a 5lb Chihuahua could go in a place like this…

We were lucky enough to find him as we posted signs throughout the neighbourhood. Some lovely lady had picked him up earlier, from running down the middle of our street all on his own. She left a note in the bakery at the end of my street, so when I went in to leave my own sign, the lady shouted that he’d been found, ripped the note of her register and handed it to me. I don’t think I’ve been so relieved in my entire life. <3 He’s great little toy dog; weighing a whole 5lbs, cost my mother a fortune. We worried he may have been eaten by an owl or hawk, or he’d simply have been stolen. Thank good for decent people. And how ironic, Lars and I read about another puppy gone missing through the trails just a short while earlier. I hope she finds her way back home too.

1. We can fight and make friends and still manage to feel as close if not closer than we did before we fought.2. You always remember to put the toilet seat down.3. You cook and clean and help with all that domestic stuff, and that in turn makes everyone’s life easier.4. I sleep better when you’re there to cuddle with.5. We share similar dreams of building a future and living life for now.6. You love to spoil me and want to learn to do it in a way I most understand.7. You let me spoil you and understand that my way of spoiling may be different than yours.8. You rub my shoulders when they ache.9. You can fix almost anything I manage to break.10. You love me for me, even when I’m rotten.11. You want to grow with me as much as I want to grow with you and accept that growing pains can hurt.12. I cannot imagine growing old without you.13. You never let me feel unattractive.14. You do your best to make sure I know I’m loved.15. You make me feel safe.16. You are quiet enough in the mornings that I don’t wake up before you go to work.17. You leave secret love notes for me to find throughout the day.18. You look deep into my eyes when you tell me you love me.19. Even after three months, every kiss feels like the 1st one.20. You almost never leave the room without kissing me goodbye.21. You will cuddle with me any time of day or night, no matter how hot and/or sticky it is outside.22. You try to show interest in the things I like, even if you’re not particularly interested.23. Sometimes, you get completely intoxicated with me (and don’t laugh at me but with me).24. You would give me the world if it were yours to give.25. Your smile lights up my life.26. You’re always looking for ways to make me smile.27. Your family feels like my family.28. I look prettiest when I’m beside you.29. You get dirty with me.30. I could write an endless list of little reasons, but for now, I’ll suffice it to say it’s because we were meant to be.

How long would it take for your dog to start gnawing off your decomposing limbs should you die in a car with your best K9 friend locked in with you? And would the amount of abuse you may or may not have forced your dog to endure alter the answer to that question? Apparently, the answer is less than 4 days, if the dog is owned by a complete asshole with no compassion for any life, let alone animal and was certainly abusive to his K9’s. This of course, is according to partially eaten remains of my father’s ex business partner, found last night in his vehicle. He had some sort of attack brought on by diabetes four days prior.

I have about as much compassion for him as he did his wife when she was given 6 months to live, and he decided then to divorce her. She’s still alive today. But then… she moved out of the house my mother fell ill and pretty much died in… Her health started to improve.

I hate that house. And though many believe it’s the supernatural that has created it’s history of insanity and bizarre illnesses, I simply believe it’s mould or bacteria from years of abuse, compiled with the combination of it being alternated from farm-type living space for poultry to a human’s home. Perhaps the dead rats mummified in the walls have something to do with it? But I digress…

John’s dead. I couldn’t care less that he no longer breathes. And I don’t believe in such bullshit as not speaking ill of the dead – sometimes, there really is nothing good you can say about a person. And why should I say nothing at all? I’m deeply disturbed by his death, the circumstances of it more than anything. And it has effected my entire day.

The man never offered condolences after my mother’s death, though he knew her, ate with her, and even laughed with her for years. My strongest memory of him was him chastising my brother for spilling a drink at dinner (as if my mother and father were not there), and then him spilling his own drink immediately after. I don’t recall a single good quality about him, and know he costs my father hundred’s of thousands of dollars if not millions due to his incompetence. He was a complete asshole to anyone and any thing – even bragged about killing his own dog, a Bull Mastiff, with a sledgehammer. The irony that another dog eat his remains is so very, VERY upsetting. It’s a bold show of true Karma. And a great reminder that it will kick you in the ass… Or in this case, consume your rotting corpse.

I wonder if he knew he was a horrible a person? Am I? Do you know if you are? And how long do you figure you would have to be dead before your most *loyal* friend started ripping chunks of flesh off your body to quench his thirst, or satiate his hunger?

I’m frustrated and annoyed with the world. Every little thing seems to bother me.

My UAE ATM card expired last month. I have spent the last 7 days trying to get them to courier me a new one. It’s meant more money on my phone bill than I have in their bank, and more frustration than the money is worth. I’d close the fucking account, only they’re the best in the UAE so I’ve been told (what a fucking joke), I’m not there to open an account with anyone else and I’ll need to deposit money there when I sell my apartment.

Though it seemed to be common procedure for them to courier cards to people, they have this stupid form they need filled out, that cannot be sent via email, but must be faxed – both to you and back to them once filled. Initially, they couldn’t seem to get the fax to me – it took three phone calls and countless minutes on hold. When I finally do get it, realize it’s asking very simple details, fill it out and try to send it back, I learn they’ve given me an incorrect fax number. So finally, I resort to emails via my online banking account. The response is absolutely absurd and so fucking common it’s expected when dealing with them.

~*~

To whom it may concern,

I have been trying to fax you all a 'Cardholder Request Form', your bank insists on having in order to send me a new ATM card as mine has expired, for the last 72 hours. The fax# you gave me 011-971-4-221-4839 does not work.

Are you not equipped to handle email? Can I email you scanned copies of the documentation? Or can I please just give you the information here, so that you can courier me my bankcard at my expense as agreed on the telephone (Service Request # XXXXXXXX).

I need you to re-issue the card with a valid date, please and courier the same to me.

I have lived in Canada for the last 3 years and believe I have updated you guys on my current address in the past. It is very frustrating that I have to do this again now.

Please respond to this email as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

XXXXXXX

~*~

Dear Customer,

Kindly note that cards are only delivered to addresses within the UAE. Should you wish to have your card delivered abroad please confirm the following:

Complete address abroad ( with a po box no/pin code/zipcode mandatory)-Complete contact details abroad:Complete contact details (mobile and landline- abroad):Please note that the courier company cannot ship without a po box no/pin code/zipcode .Please confirm that you will be in your current location for more than 7-10 days and agree to bear the courier fees.

Once you agree to the above conditions and would like us to send your card abroad, kindly contact us on 009714 3160316 (available 24hours) to place your request.

Thank you for choosing EmiratesNBD.

Regards,MirEmiratesNBD

~*~

Dear Mir (or whoever else responds to these emails),

Do you guys even read your emails before you reply? I have given you all the details requested in the 1st email I sent about this. And I'm only emailing you because the people who answer the phones at your customer service 04-3160316 are incompetent and useless. I have already made 3 phone calls to them without help. I have now spent more money on my phone bill calling your bank than I have holding in my bank account with you.

Please re-read my email, see that I have agreed to have my atm card couriered to me here in Canada, and see I have given you all required details, and then respond with something helpful, rather than waste anymore of my time. If you do not understand this, please have your supervisor read my emails and respond rather than trying yourself.

Sincerely,

XXXXXXX

Another note..

CONTACT your local courier, as you are mistaken. I work with one daily. A courier does NOT deliver to PO boxes, but only to street addresses! You should already have mine on file. But here it is again for the 15th time:

************************

Thank you.

~*~

Yet again, one more reason I’m fucking glad I don’t live there anymore. When an economy depends on cheap labour. They tend to get and give cheap service across the board.

That’s not the only thing that’s annoying me. I meant it when I said everything is. It’s been forever since I’ve had the chance to get to the gym. Since Lars moved in, it feels like I’m constantly cleaning up, or cooking, or simply exhausted (from playing with him of course) or working on some other household project that I don’t get any real ‘me’ time. I need my fucking ‘me’ time. I’m annoyed because my garden hasn’t been built yet, and my compost worms aren’t multiplying fast enough. I’m annoyed because house suddenly feels too small for all this ‘stuff’ – I’m a minimalist and after my mom died I became the owner of countless cat trinkets and other ornaments. I’m annoyed because my brother has lost yet another job. I’m annoyed because I’m fucking annoyed. So I must be PMSing. I don’t have the patience for anything.

So despite there being dishes to be done, floors to be clean, and flowers to be tended to I’m going to finish my coffee, say ‘fuck it’, take a shower and head on out to the gym.

I fell asleep on the couch last night. I woke at 3:45am to a text message that said, “Wake me… I love you. And wont wake you even though all I want is your touch… You need to sleep. Don’t leave without me!!! <3”

While falling asleep I wondered whether or not I’d wake him, knowing how exhausted he would be. He answered my questions for him. I curled into bed with him and whispered him awake. We got up, had coffee and protein shakes with my dad, and then got ourselves ready to go. We must’ve left the house just after 5am. We sold all sorts of crap at the flea market and are considering doing it all again next week… Despite it being a busy morning, it felt rather quiet. I suppose a huge part of that is how tired we both were (I took a few pills to help me sleep last night and he got home rather late).

We talked about learning from our arguments, and what we’ve learned about each other. I told him his yelling sounded more like whining, he told me he didn’t like to yell. We talked a little about our days – I’m glad to learn he had a blast with his family and there was even a live band at the park they’d decided to visit, out of the blue! And we spent a good portion of time just holding each other. One more step closer… Perhaps most surprising of it all was the fact that no army military goon showed up to kill him at his mom’s birthday party as promised….

Anyway, it’s about time we both go for a nap. How awesome would it be if we just slept right on through the night?

Some people will stay in a miserable relationship month after month, year after year; lying to themselves about matters of the heart when in reality they are simply afraid of change; afraid to be single. I’m not like that at all (anymore), which is why ill wishes from dumb whores like Lars’ ex, that he makes me miserable for the rest of my life, will never, ever be granted. I simply wouldn’t allow it. The minute I evaluate my relationship with him and realize I’m spending more time unhappy than happy, that’s the minute I walk away. And me NOT being co-dependant, like that dumb cunt is, I’d be perfectly ok with doing that, knowing it was for the best. For the most part, he and I have been pretty fucking happy together…

Today though… I’m miserable. In fact, I’m down right out pissed off at Lars – if not on the verge of tears. This morning, we actually yelled at each other for the very first time. Yelling doesn’t look good on him, in fact it came across as more a whine. (How ridiculous the accusation that he was ever capable of controlling/abusing some woman with serious daddy issues in his past!!!) A result of our fight was me choosing not to spend the day with him; sending him to the mainland on his own. In doing so, I sincerely hope he enjoys his day with his family and I find some way to enjoy my day without him. I regret not seeing his beautiful mom & sister, and that is really upsetting for me. Everything between him and I, I’m sure will pass.

But… I’m a strong woman, and there’s a lot of shit I won’t put up with that maybe he’s become accustomed to getting away with, in relationships with weaker women in his past…? For him and I, they’re growing pains. We’re learning where each other draws the line. And either we’ll grow into each other, or we’ll grow out of one another. Either way, neither one of us will be miserable permanently. We’re well-rounded grownups that way.

And though today is crap, yesterday he spent a good deal of time just showing me how much I really mean to him. The boy spoiled me rotten – to the point where I had to call his mom and ask her to help make him stop… While I was working, Lars went out of his way to buy me a few things that I needed, and a few more things that I just wanted, and then even some things that would just make me smile. It was actually, far too much and I almost got mad at him for the sheer irresponsibility of his spending. His financial stability is as important to me, as mine is.

Anyway, I’m off to get stuff ready for tomorrow’s Flea Market. Might as well make the best I possibly can of this day… till he comes home, we make up and snuggle up for the night.

I’m so glad I’m not a knuckle-dragging ass-wipe, but rather have a few brains.

‘NUNYA’ is Internet slang for ‘None of ya damn business’. And no, I didn’t mean ‘your’, but ‘ya’ – as those who use it tend to accept such slang as proper English. A little closer to home, Nunya can also be known as a US Military goon that’s attempted so very hard to threaten (ok, ok… make promises of bodily harm), us in the comments of earlier posts and private emails. I think my favourite sentence was, “Watch Your Back, You'll Know Not When We Come.” Having each word capitalized, and using language like ‘know not’ adds to my terror. Gotta love online warriors – like really bad horror movies, they’re full of entertainment.

I often wonder if people like this understand how transparent the internet is. Even more so, how revealing it could be. For example, Nunya could otherwise be known as Jason Conley, resident of Lancaster or maybe Bedford, NH, USA, possibly near Campbell Rd or Rolling Woods Drive, whose only higher education was acquired in the Military, as public school was for fools while he was growing up as a civilian... But hell, she could also be known as Big Bertha resident of Sesame Street, Cartoon Network, with a Cereal-Box Diploma in Sandbox Politics for all I’d know…

But blah… whatever…

We didn’t make it to the fireworks, or the live band last night. Instead, we went to The Keg for Lobster & Steak, and Billy Miner Pie. Seriously, if you don’t know what Billy Miner Pie is (as I didn’t before last night), you don’t know what heaven on earth tastes like!

~*~~*~~*~~*~Does the fact that I keep peering into the black backgrounds of these pictures for a commando US military guy aiming his gun at us make you smile as wide as it does me?~*~I’m such a bitch.~*~~*~~*~~*~

By the time we left, around 7:30pm, we were so full, the idea of wandering through the crowds downtown was way less appealing than cuddling up in bed in front of a good movie. So instead, we made a quick stop to buy a few DVD’s and made our way home.

Lars & I got naughty for a bit – for the first time in a year or so, my system got a little THC hit. A little brain vacation never did any harm. We giggled as we watched Alice in Wonderland in complete stupidity, then, totally satisfied, passed out in one another’s arms. It was a great way to spend Canada Day in BC…

This is the third Canada Day in a row that I’ve been back home. Three years. I don’t want to be anywhere else on earth.

Yesterday was a bit of a ride (in more ways than one). I asked my boss for a much-deserved raise. It’s not something I did with ease; as I sincerely feel she’s like a mother to me, and as such I dislike asking her for anything but rather trust that she will look out for my best interests on her own. I tend to forget that we work together in an office, and despite having such a wonderful friendship, when it comes to work our relationship, it is a professional one.

’Professional…’ I’m so glad I know the definition of that word, and spend a lot of my life acting it out…

I laughed a lot at an online war that took place on my blog. It’s been years since I’ve been drawn into such fun ‘n games. But it was on my blog, and my blog is where I can indulge in whatever whim I please at any given moment, I guess. I felt a lot of pity as well; pity for neglected children and a misguided delusional mother who should have been spayed like any stray dog years before conceiving. I felt pity for the fool of an obvious average intelligence level and an engrossed ego to match an impressive vocabulary, that’s been drawn into her toxic web. If only he saw through my eyes (or anyone else’s), he’d see the laughing stock she’s made of him and his empty threats (or ‘promises’ as he prefers we called them)…

This morning I decided to disable the comments on the post, as I believe Lars and I have wasted enough time on idiocy. And hell, since we already have the US Army after us, we should stop while we're still alive!

For now, I’ll ponder the ludicrous that she is, the spite that she holds on to, the insanity that she finds comfort in, the lies she tells, and the true love that we’ve gained from her loss.

Tonight, Lars and I will celebrate the birthday of this great nation. We’ve planned to pack a picnic and go down to the water, where we’ll listen to the live bands then finally watch the fireworks after the sun goes down.

In celebration of Canada, lets share a giggle:

I'm proud to be a CanadianPass me another beerI'm proud to be a CanadianHold my seat while I take a piss

Our prime minister sucks dogshit through his noseHis ex-wife gets brown showers from Mick JaggerThe only reason we live in fucking igloosIs our government makes a living licking shit holes

I'm proud to be a CanadianPass me another welfare checkI'm proud to be a CanadianHold my seat while I go out and cash it

I'm proud to be a CanadianPass me another EskimoI'm proud to be a CanadianHold my seat while I fuck her up the ass hole

Disclaimer

This is my personal weblog. The thoughts and opinions represented here are mine and mine alone. They do not reflect those of my employers, associates or peers.

I am forever changing and always staying this same; a true living contradiction and as such, my thoughts and opinions change frequently. I may or may not still hold the same opinions noted in out-of-date posts.

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